


with the demons you drowned (stay)

by Lothiriel84



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Post-Season/Series Finale, Queerplatonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 08:40:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19225615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lothiriel84/pseuds/Lothiriel84
Summary: Three o'clock in the morningIt's quiet and there's no one aroundJust the bang and the clatterAs an angel runs to ground





	with the demons you drowned (stay)

“You don’t smoke,” he says, consternation seeping through his tone, unbidden.

“I know,” Crowley shrugs, despondently. “Doesn’t mean I can’t start now.”

(Tired, then. That is to be expected, under the circumstances.)

“Not in my shop,” he states, firmly, and extends his hand. Crowley only glares at him, the cigarette smouldering quietly between his fingers, until he wishes it out of existence with an irritated shrug.

“Happy now?” the demon drawls, nowhere near as sarcastic as he would like to come across. Aziraphale can feel the exact moment when the penny drops – the lingering smell of smoke triggering wave after wave of renewed grief and abject panic – and he drops to his knees, his palms pressed on his friend’s thighs, the better to convey their unspoken message.

_I’m here. We’re fine. Just breathe._

“I thought,” Crowley sobs, his hands reaching blindly for something to hold on to, finding purchase on the lapels of Aziraphale’s pristine jacket.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

The books sitting on the shelves all around hold their breath – metaphorically speaking, of course – as time stretches on, and neither of them dares to move. Eventually, Crowley exhales a soft, shuddering breath, and lets himself be coaxed into a more comfortable position, his head nestled against his best friend’s shoulder, as if that is precisely what it was made for right from the Beginning.

“Sleep,” Aziraphale commands, but it’s gentle, like a prayer. Silence settles around them like a warm duvet (eiderdown, he thinks fondly, the hint of a smile tugging at his human features).

And it’s in this exact moment that he decides it doesn’t matter if Heaven or Hell are watching. It’s such a short distance to crash through, and yet, he feels dizzy with it – giddy, even.

It’s not as much a fall from grace as it is a dive into an ocean of pure, unadulterated love.

Crowley stirs momentarily in his sleep, muttering something unintelligible, and settles back against his shoulder.


End file.
